Harry Potter and the Green Flame Torch
by Kt6
Summary: Now that it has been accepted that Voldemort has returned, Harry is once again regarded as a hero as he enters his sixth year at Hogwarts. The boy wizard's newest mission is to recover the Green Flame Torch, a powerful weapon that Voldemort is just dying


**Harry Potter and the Green Flame Torch**  
By Kt  
  
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**Author's Notes:** I must admit that I hadn't imagined my first fanfic I posted on this site to be a sixth year fic, but I'm just so motivated to write my version of Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts! I am going to try and stick as close to canon as possible; of course, since I am not J.K. Rowling my attempts will probably be futile. ;-) I've collected some rumors for the sixth book that seem plausible and have tried to incorporate as many as possible into the storyline of this. I hope you all will find my attempts worthwhile; please write a review! I need all the support and encouragement I can get!  
  
Hopefully this chapter is what you would consider a decent length. I was going to make it longer but decided against it.  
  
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**Chapter One:**  
  


Sitting alone in the smallest bedroom in the house located at number four Privet Drive was none other than Harry Potter, fresh from his fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was around midnight now, Harry figured, though he couldn't be sure; he had spent the last several hours after his return to the Muggle world locked up in his room. He had ignored the calls of his aunt and uncle to get downstairs and help with the usual chores. According to Uncle Vernon, Harry's usual chores had accumulated and he had some making up to do...But Harry didn't care. His lack of response had spurred Aunt Petunia to tell her husband, in a voice that sounded just a small bit concerned, "He's had a rough year, what with that man dying, let him grieve for a while." At that, Harry's pig-like cousin Dudley had chortled and had surprisingly been sent to his room.   
  
Harry's school trunk and other items he'd brought back from Hogwarts still lay on the floor, unopened and unpacked. Hedwig, the only other occupant of the dark room, kept very quite (which was uncharacteristic for an owl) but looked at her master with concern in her eyes. Had this been under any other circumstances, Hedwig probably would have received a "I'm all right, Hedwig," from Harry, but the reassurance never came.  
  
In the dark, Harry reached out a hand and ran his fingertips across the glossy photographs in the photo album Hagrid had given him in his first year. The photo album was the only thing that Harry had unpacked and it hadn't left Harry's sight since he'd returned home. It was opened to the pictures of his parents' wedding and despite the many people in them, Harry's eyes sought out and remained focused on his godfather every time he looked at them. The other people, including his parents, would vy for Harry's attention by smiling and waving just a bit more frantically and a tear formed in Harry's eye as they did so.  
  
It would be such an easy task to convince himself that everybody in these pictures were still alive...If only it were true.  
  
A small sob escaped Harry before he even had the chance to think about holding it back. He shut his eyes, squeezing them tightly together to attempt to ebb the flow of salty tears that he knew was coming; Harry hadn't cried yet and he wasn't about to give in to the temptation...Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a voice telling Harry that if he could just stop the grieving process, Sirius's death wouldn't be confirmed. He had nothing to cry about if Sirius wasn't dead...  
  
The surprised look on his godfather's face as the Stunning curse hit him and caused him to stumble backwards immediately flew into Harry's mind. Bellatrix Lestrange's triumphant, evil laughter as Sirius went beyond the veil was still ringing in his ears. Seeing Bellatrix Lestrange's familiar face again was enough to remind Harry that, deep in his core, he wanted nothing more than to avenge Sirius's untimely death -- to _hurt_ Bellatrix Lestrange, perhaps even with an Unforgivable Curse. After all, he had used -- or tried to use, in any case -- the Cruciatus Curse, one of the most horrible curses in the wizarding world, second only to the Killing Curse. If given the chance to injure -- or maybe even kill Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius's murderer -- Harry was sure he would use it again. And he would be more successful at it.  
  
That thought came to Harry's mind so unexpectedly that he was surprised. Had he really just considered _murdering_ somebody? A shudder racked Harry's body, followed by another, louder sob that he didn't even attempt to control. He was tired of holding his emotions back; Harry knew that if he kept everything he was feeling bottled up inside, he would go back to Hogwarts for his sixth year, still snapping at his friends and possibly severing friendships.  
  
From snapping at Ron and Hermione every time they said something that Harry found less than desirable to going into some unstoppable destruction mode in front of a man whom he admired and respected greatly, his entire fifth year had been full of anger at everybody, for no reason in particular. Harry was surprised now, as he looked back on his uncontrollable temper, that he even had any friends left; but that was what made Ron and Hermione such good best friends -- they understood what Harry was going through and let him rant and rave, even though his anger was most definitely not justified at some points.  
  
Harry pushed all thoughts of Sirius and his recent demise out of his head and entering in their place were ponderings of the prophecy Harry had learned about from Dumbledore. The words "_Neither shall live while the other survives_" reverberated painfully inside his head now. The revelation that Harry's life had only two paths -- he would either live and kill Voldemort for good, or he would die at the hands of the Dark Lord -- had come as such a shock to him that he hadn't had much time to contemplate that. But now, after the words of the prophecy had finally sunk in, Harry was determined not to be the one to die.  
  
Voldemort had killed Harry's parents when Harry was little more than an infant, taking them away from him before he ever got the chance to know who they were. He had then proceeded to kill Cedric in front of Harry's eyes, which had left certain emotional scars even though Harry and Cedric were not close friends. And then one of his Death Eaters had murdered Sirius...Those were only the deaths that directly affected Harry in some way. There were many other cold-blooded murders and tortures that gave Harry enough motivation to want to rid the world of this horrible creature one way or another.  
  
Sleep was beginning to overcome Harry now but he didn't want to sleep. There was a fear within him that if he gave in and allowed himself to fall into the dreamworld, the memories of what had happened would come back even more vividly than when he was awake. But he was so tired...And his eyelids were getting heavy...Harry let out a yawn. Maybe he could just rest his eyes. Yawning again, wider this time, Harry nodded and closed the photo album. He placed it carefully on his bed beside of him and then reclined, propping himself up slightly against his pillows. He closed his eyes...  
  
And then darkness overcame him. Harry was back in the Department of Mysteries again. He didn't want to be there -- he didn't _need_ to be there, but there was a sense of urgency about the place that was keeping him strangely interested. He got the feeling that something important was about to happen.  
  
Harry's eyes fell upon people he recognized: Tonks, Remus, Kingsley and Moody among them. They weren't supposed to be there, either. Harry needed to let them know that this was a mistake on his part and that they needed to get out of the Department of Mysteries as soon as possible, before something terrible happened. He called out loudly but even though his voice echoed eerily around the room, nobody seemed to hear him. He tried again, but it was in vain. Everybody had their attention focused on something else.  
  
Tonks was closest, but she was still a good distance away from Harry; perhaps if Harry could reach her, he could alert her to the fact that there was going to be a devastating occurrence if they didn't get out of there. With that thought in mind, Harry tried to run...But found his legs to be planted firmly to the ground, unmoving. Panic began to rise in him...He had to let them know!  
  
Just then, two shapes flew past him in a blur. Harry's eyes followed the unfocused shapes until they became clear: Sirius and Bellatrix Lestrange were dueling furiously, their eyes locked. Bellatrix was taunting Sirius, laughing at him in a mocking manner until Sirius's actions became more unfocused and rash. Sirius's concentration had been broken...  
  
Everything happened so quickly that Harry had no time to react. A curse emanated from the tip of Bellatrix Lestrange's wand and hit Sirius, knocking him off balance; Harry watched in helplessness and horror as the forcefulness at which the curse had hit Sirius made him fly back...He fell through the veil unexpectedly...  
  
...And was gone.  
  
Bellatrix Lestrange's triumphant laughing coupled with the evil glint in her eyes were too much for Harry. He couldn't stand it. He clutched at the scar on his forehead, which was throbbing with perhaps the most pain Harry had felt up until this point, and screamed as loudly as he possibly could. The scream echoed throughout the room in much the same way as his attempt at warning Tonks and the others had.  
  
Harry woke up with a start and sat up as straight as his possibly could on his bed. His screaming was cut short by a loud, impatient knock on his door. "Boy, why are you in there screaming bloody murder?" came the furious voice of Uncle Vernon. "You better shut that ruddy mouth of yours before I do something about it!"  
  
"I-I'm fine," said Harry, though he most definitely was not fine.  
  
All Harry got in response was a grunt from his Uncle Vernon, but Harry could hear Aunt Petunia chastising her husband lightly in the hallway. "He's had a rough year, Vernon, just give him time to grieve a little bit before you start yelling at him again. He's only fifteen, he's had to deal with too much for a teenager..."  
  
"I don't give a damn about what he's had to deal with, Petunia!" roared Uncle Vernon. "It's his own fault anyway, for being a-a _you know what_!"  
  
Aunt Petunia had replied, but Harry couldn't make out what she was saying; her voice had become too muffled, probably because she and Uncle Vernon were heading either back to their room or to the living room. As much as Harry did appreciate his aunt's sticking up for him (even though he knew that wouldn't last long; Tonks, Lupin and Moody had merely scared her with their warning, but it was only a matter of time before she regained her coldness toward him), Uncle Vernon's words rang true. Sirius's death _was_ his fault. If he had just listened to Hermione and resisted the urge to go to the Department of Mysteries on a "rescue mission", or if he had just opened Sirius's package a bit earlier, Harry's godfather would still be alive at this very moment.  
  
That thought was too much for him; for the first time since Sirius's death, Harry did not shut his eyes to the flow of tears. Instead, he merely allowed the cool tears to course down his cheeks, which were paler than normal. For the first time since Sirius's death, Harry allowed himself to truly grieve, giving into the anguish and pain that he had been feeling ever since he had watched Sirius's body arc so gracefully as it passed behind the veil.  
  



End file.
